Words
by shoutcouture
Summary: CB oneshot. What i think the make-up scene in season 2 should be like.


Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or its characters.

After throwing his jacket and keys onto the bartop, he slowly sat himself down in front of the mini-fridge. He could already feel the skin between his nose and his left eye turning the colour of dead cells - killed upon contact from four aggravated knuckles. Feeling the vibration of his cellphone on his skin indicating an incoming text message, he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Gossip. Bitch." he muttered. He could already picture the cellphone shot of him shamefully getting punched by Mr Fight Club.

Unlike other guys who pretend not to be interested in taking the slightest peek into the site, Chuck Bass wasn't embarrased to admit how much of a kick he gets from reading up on the latest scandals regarding his peers. Who slept with who, who was unwillingly dragged out of the homosexual closet, who had a boobjob, who got wasted with who.. it was all pretty comforting to know the he wasn't the only effed up one among all the gloss and glamour. And at least he doesn't deny who he is unlike they do. But when it comes to reading up on himself, it was another story altogether.  
Reading Chuck Bass gossip always invokes an uncertain feeling in himself. He couldn't decide if it was pride, from clinching prime PR space, or discomfort, for having to take in personal details of himself. He only liked mirrors that didn't reflect things that crawl underneath surfaces.

He cursed when he hears the sound of of impatient knuckles rapping on his room door.  
People - he so didn't need one of those right now, especially when they come armed with mouthfuls of judgement and condescending advise. He closed his eyes, pressing ice against the throbbing left one. He could hear the click of the door handle being pulled down and slow footsteps momentarily brushing against carpet.

"Ice without alcohol? How atypical of you Bass."

Not her. Slowly, he stood up and fought against looking into her eyes. He sauntered towards the couch racking his brain for an offensive retort.

"And how atypical of you reducing yourself to pseudo-aristocrats with fake British accents." He breathed as he spread himself across the furniture.

"He IS a blue-blood British. And much more of a gentleman than any upper east side manwhore."

"Yeah a gentleman who serves suckerpunches. And last I recall, you were acting not that much of a lady yourself." He smirked.

Her eyes shrink into squints as her red lips form a pout. He knew that look well.  
If only she knew how cute she looked when she's angry. He quickly averted his gaze from her face in order to suppress the fluttering in his stomach. He swore he could hear her sigh, ready to give up on whatever she intended to set out on when she first stepped into his room.

"I'm sorry." He quickly blurted.

"oh, I know you are."

Silence.

"Haven't you realised that you're not the Jackie Chan type no matter how much you think you are.  
I mean even Humphrey could kick your ass."

"He's from Brooklyn. People there grow up on a diet of violence and bad fashion taste."

He wanted to smile cause she looked like she wanted to smile herself. How he missed her face, her presence.  
He was unsure of what to say or do so he just let the flux of silence between them remain. He realised that she looked unsure herself. With another sigh, she turned on her heels towards the door.

"Blair.. I'm really sorry." He didn't dare look at her afraid that she would make him feel even more naked and fragile than he already is at that moment.

She stopped and begin to move towards him. With one move, she roughly pushed his legs off of the couch and settled herself on the now-free spot. She gently unwrapped his fingers from the ice pack and begin to dap his wounded eye. He closed his eyes and let her.

"I was scared. Amelia didn't mean anything. I wanted to be perfect for you but i didn't realise then that I can never be. You deserve your fairy tale and I'm not a prince. I.. Oww!!" He clutched his eye as the surrounding flesh started aching even more when her finger jabbed at it roughly.

"Shut up Bass. You, out of all people, should know by now.. that Blair Waldorf doesn't do perfect fairy tales anymore."

She tried to keep a straight face but couldn't stop herself from giggling as she watched him grimace in pain.  
He took her free hand in his and played with her fingers. She let him. Again, that flow of silence between them.  
This time, it was a comforting one. There were no more words to be said because in whatever few words they have uttered, held everything they felt for each other.


End file.
